Customs
by Angelada
Summary: "Why won't you get on the horse, Divines damn it?" Because that was what started all this mess, she simply refused to get behind him on the blasted animal.


This was becoming ridiculous.

Honestly, he hardly knew why he was even asking anymore. He, of all people, should have known that she was insufferably stubborn when it came to thinks like this; and while he did not judge her for it, he couldn't help but blame it on her Nord blood.

Nord, while strong, resilient, -mostly- friendly and reliable, came more often than not coupled with a baffling sense of honour, glory and native pride.

Lydia, he soon learnt, as _dedicated_ she was to his service, was no exception.

Still, he reasoned, that didn't mean that her behaviour was excusable. No to mention that the knowledge help none to lessen his irritation and more to worsen it.

And indeed, Marius Tarquin: Imperial, Dragonborn, Slayer of Alduin, Harbinger of the Companions, Legate, Archmage of The college of Winterhold and currently entangled with The Thieves Guild, was in no way happy with his trusty housecarl.

The brooding Dragonborn could still remember in precise detail the misfortune that lead to his current situation.

It all started with the strange purple gem in Kodlak Whitemane's bedroom, but he really doesn't want to think about that. No, what he wanted to do was to continue to carve holes with his glare in anything and anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Yes, possibly kill it every now and then too, to vent his frustration. He may have been abusing that method of calming down though, since lately even flexing his enchanted mace and plunging it in flesh and bones wasn't helping his mood in any way, and even the most poor-sighted of animals seemed to have started avoiding his bloodied self. Well, he supposed a tall figure covered in frost-troll blood _would_ clash against the whiteness of the tundra. His horse trotted happily behind him, her white mane surely doing a better job at helping the mare blend in than his dirty dragonbone armour did for him. He scoffed and quickly mounted the horse, accepting that there were no animals or humans foolish enough to fight him until they at least reached the next bandits' hideout.

The mare barely took notice of the new added weight, advancing easily.

He envied the lovable animal for a second; her life was surely simpler and happier than his, and he imagined that _not_ having to deal with head-strong women was one of the strong boons.

With that thought, he stole a quick glance at the Nord woman on his left.

Gods, he treasured the woman, but he suspected that he had better chances of reasoning with a feral Elder dragon than with her.

He hadn't even asked that much of her. I was a simple, reasonable, and above all, beneficial request.

"Get on the horse Lydia." He'd said. And he'd even forced himself to ask politely, and smile gently her way when he said it, no matter how unnecessary he though his effort. It was the generous streak in him, he told himself, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was limping awkwardly due to her most recent wounds, to both her leg and side.

He was _not_ worried that she would die on him in the middle of the woods, like she almost did after they raided the Dark Brotherhood's Sanctuary.

He almost cringed at the memory, remembering that particular mission could only drag his mood down further, and that was the last thing he needed. He turned his gaze forwards in hope of finding some creature unfortunate enough to face him in combat, but even the giants' camp was sadly empty of both giants and mammoths. "What a drag…" He grumbled under his breath, tightening his grip on his horse's reins in frustration. He imagined that the thin strap of leather was someone's neck and immediately felt better.

The Dragonborn really needed to loosen up soon, or else he would go on a rampage, he concluded sensibly, and he did not want to know how that would work out for the nearest city. The last incident of the sorts came to his mind as they passed another crossroad and "Markarth", written in a bold scrawl on rotting wood, entered his vision.

Many lives were foolishly lost that day, the smell of smoke, sweat and blood flooded every crevice of the dusty stone buildings and ancient dwemer pipelines. The pained screams that filled his ears and fuelled him onwards in his blind rage. And to think it all started with that shady guard in the market commenting on his affinity to conjuring magic.

"Conjure me up a warm bed, would you?", he'd said, a stupid smirk in his tone.

"Don't hurt me!" He'd begged, Marius' mace in digging in his armour and rendering it unserviceable.

A considerably useless ordeal, that day proved to be, the man was dead in two swings of magic-infused ebony and suddenly everyone in the city decided they had a dead wish. They were such a pain in the- Wait… haven't they passed that giants' camp twice already?

Great, not only did he need to rid himself of the bitter taste in him mouth now, but thanks to his stray thoughts he'd gotten them lost too.

He subtly turned in the saddle to watch the woman waking alongside his horse. She has not said anything; even if she'd surely noticed that they have been moving in circles.

No, he was _not_ disappointed, it wasn't like he could not stand her silence, he'd put up with it since they've left that bloody cave. And he meant bloody in every sense of the word. Just because she was bleeding and she was paler than usually, and because she was visibly struggling to keep up…

He was not worried, damn it!

Refraining from cursing in frustration, Marius hastily turned his head to the left, his dark hair moulding to his heated temple under the heavy helmet.

Standing tall and silent, even if there was a visible strain in her shoulders, his housecarl was making an admirable job at hiding her weakened state. Prideful like always, he couldn't help but think.

Thinking about it, the whole argument did come down to their prideful nature. Well, that and…

"Why won't you get on the horse, Divines damn it?" Because that was what started all this mess, she simply refused to get behind him on the blasted animal. If she would have only taken up his offer to ride with him, they would have long since reached an inn to spend the night in, instead of wandering the wildness.

Her brows furrowed stubbornly and her back straightened with an audible creak of bone and metal.

"I cannot." She hissed from between her hard-clenched teeth. There was a strain in her jaw that bothered Marius immensely, for whatever reason. "It is not my place." She finished with strength she should be saving.

Gods, she was being difficult again, he thought with a frown.

"Nonsense, who says so?" He argued, and mentally swore when he recognized the tension in his voice, his anger made him sound concerned.

He was _not_ concerned.

"You know little of this land and its people, I need not answer to you." The woman bit back, with more venom than he expected. The self-assuredness of her words was predictable, yet just as infuriating as the words themselves. She even had the audacity to try to hide her pain as her legs had started to give way under his gaze.

He had enough.

"Is that how you talk with your Thane, Lydia? You would rather bleed to death here than ride alongside me for the sake of convention, but you would still disobey your better? How dare you? I know plenty enough of your headstrongness and pride to understand that this is another of your people's unreasonable decorum. " The Imperial barked, fighting not to let his dragon blood take hold of his voice. "I shall never understand the likes of you, placing honour, _tradition_ over life and necessity." Magika sparked underneath his skin, and he felt the blue, fluid flames boiling in the palm of his hands, his wrists, burning at his throat and pulling at the corners of his eyes.

She remained, as weak and tall as ever, with no security on her feet and her lips thinned at the edges, her nostrils flaring painfully. No doubt the woman could feel the pull of ancient power coming from the core of his being, and a dark, draconic part of him thrilled to see it.

_"Nahlot Fin Mill."_

The power in him roared. _"Viim Ek Kah_." Show her pride. For a moment, his pupils dilated and stretched, but then the scent of her blood reached his nose, finally, and the flames dimmed.

_"Dahmaan_." Remember.

She was hurt, he needed to get her home, to get her to safety, wasn't that what he was aiming for?

_"Siiv Drem_." Find peace. "_Prem_." Patience.

Uselessly, the voices chanted still in Marius' head, asking for things he could not fully understand.

"You need not understand my mind-set to respect it, my Thane, I have sworn to you my life, my sword and my loyalty, but not my spirit. Do not forget that I am bound to you by the same customs that you mock."

Her dark hair flew back behind her with the wind, her exotic eyes wide and hazy, and the pink of her cheeks and lips beckoned him to touch it. And still, that smell would let him have no peace, and her pride was unmoving and unbroken.

They stood still, conflicted, at the junction between two cultures.

Her shoulders slumbered and her hands gripped her sides forcefully. Her energy was fading.

"Sooner or later, you will collapse, Lydia, and I will not wait until then to get you on this horse. Be reasonable and let us move away from this wasteland." The Dragonborn started quietly, fury forgotten and buried by the crumbling of her façade. "You will not make it like this, Nord, hear what I say." Was it so hard for her to see he didn't want her dead if he could help it? He prayed to Julianos for the strength to let keep his wits with him for the remaining of this horrid journey. "I won't judge you; I'll even try to understand your culture more, I promise that to you, just… not today." He hated the way his eyes and tone softened as he spoke; he could sense her weakness, her uneasiness, even her anger; they made him a gentler man. "Today is not the day to value custom over practicality, do you understand?"

He was never more relieved than when he saw her nod her acceptance. There was something foreign in her expression as he helped her mount his mare, not quite acceptance, not quite defeat, not quite regret either.

"Let us go." She told him, somehow uncertainly. He was more than happy to comply.

Having his arms around her middle as he held her in place was something even more foreign and startling than the glint in her eyes, her head was limb against his chest plate and her breathing quiet and warm. The Imperial struggled not to crush her in his arm, like his instincts told him to do. His blood was boiling even if it ought not to have been.

He'd never held her before, and hardly ever thought of doing so, until then. It was not an unpleasant felling; he found it easy to admit.

But she was too still, too tangible, too trusting; it tested his restrain and threatened his sanity in the most unexpected of ways.

"Why are you so reluctant to ride a horse, Lydia?" The Dovakiin asked, distracting himself from her inescapable, welcoming warmth. She struggled a bit in his arms, as if roused from a deep sleep.

"It is not that Nords do not ride." She started slowly. "It is that they do not ride in pairs…"

"And why is that?"

She straightened, uneasy. "It is not proper in our… position." She said as if it would explain everything.

"So you'd have rather ran behind the horse, while injured?" Marius's brows rose in disbelief, not that she could have seen them. "And if you didn't want to ride with me, why haven't you said so? Don't you thing I would have let you ride my mare to safely and caught up with you in a day or two?"

"I… It was not that."

"Than what was it?"

"It is not my place, no matter how much you tend to forget this, my Thane."

"…"

"My thane?"

"You are insufferable."

Lydia blinked slowly, surprised, not that he could have seen. "…beg your pardon?" She crooked her head up, to grudge his reaction, and he tried not to let his eyes be drawn to the dark skin of her parted lips.

He dismissed her inquiry with a shake of his covered-head. "When would it be proper for two people to ride a horse, then?" The Imperial asked, only vaguely curious.

"Hardly ever." She laughed quietly, perhaps amused by the strangeness of her own culture. "It is almost unheard of… to have two people riding the same horse. It implies a certain…intimacy and shared trust." The dark-haired woman explained, just as quietly. Lydia fidgeted in his grasp, clearly uncomfortable with the subject, and it only served to truly arouse his curiosity.

"Intimacy?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of her head. She nodded, stiffly, and his head moved with the motion. "How so? What kind of intimacy, pray tell?" The Dragonborn pried further.

She hesitated, biting her lips. Marius felt the need to encourage her to talk, so quietly, against her ear, he breathed a soft command. "Go on, I want to know."

Her reluctance crumbled; for there were few things she could deny him when he used that voice. "The kind that comes with marriage." The Nord finally admitted, as if defeated, and her breathing became even more noiseless, more controlled than ever.

She was all too aware of her surroundings, of the beating of her frenzied heart and the warmth of her Thane at her back.

The Imperial laughed heartily, his breath ghosting through her hair and hitting the exposed skin of her neck. He laughed as if he was possessed, as if he had never been more carefree then then, and it was almost frightening how much she enjoyed the sound.

"What amuses you, my Thane?" Lydia asked, as the man grew calm again.

Still steadily leading the horse forward, he took one of his arms from around the woman and took off his helmet, carefully putting it in his pack. She stared at his, confused, and he laughed once more, before his face settled into a beam that could have only be described as blinding. With both hands, he tightened his hold on the horse's reins and used his shoulder to lift her chin, to have her facing him as best as she could in the position they were. After that, he kissed her, his mouth as scorchingly hot as a dragon's breath and just as overwhelming. He kissed her thoroughly, carefully, taking in everything about her as he went, exploring her soft mouth. She gave in easily to his touch, not as opposed to his display of affection as she ought to have been.

"That was all? All I needed to do was marry you?" He muttered breathlessly against her lips, eyes glinting brightly in the pale light.

He kissed her again, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and he laughed as he did so.

"I'm sorry." Marius said, after he had stopped laughing and kissing her, as her head cleared and he held her close. "It's just that, had I knew this was all it took to convince you to get on this horse, I would have agreed in a heartbeat."

The woman fumbled to answer him, her cheeks red and her appearance pleasantly wild, but she found no words to protest, no will to fight him. He kissed her again, to help her forget why she had thought of protesting in the first place.

Later on, when he would reason that he did what he did because he was a man of efficiency, and that there were good motives to go to such means to have Lydia ride his horse with him, all technical and rational, even he would know he was lying.

* * *

All right, so, the only reason this story exists is because it irks me to no end that once you get a horse all your companions are forced to run after you as you parade around, effortlessly. I cannot help but feel bad for treating them so poorly just because I have a horse and they don't. I know there are NPC that ride horses, and that it is not taboo to do so, but they are not all that common. And why can't my follower ride with me? I tried to come up with some form of explanation for that, and I ended up with the idea that maybe it is not proper amongst Nords, or something… anyway, thanks for reading, if you made it this far!


End file.
